Loyalties
by trufflemores
Summary: 2.06. Iris makes a blog post about The Flash post-"Enter Zoom."


**Author's Notes:** Bad news, guys: my laptop is malfunctioning. Hopefully I can resolve the issue soon! Luckily I am able to write but posting fic has become substantially more difficult for now. Will keep doing my best!

 _THE FLASH LIVES_

 _Iris West_

 _Let me begin by saying this: The Flash is_ _alive_ _._

 _If you've seen the news, then you know he's hurting. The Flash can't compromise his safety by coming out to the public about his identity, so we can only support him from a distance. But he knows we talk about him. Let's send him all the love and support we can while he recovers._

 _You may be asking yourself: how do I know that he's alive? Unfortunately, I can't disclose my sources about The Flash's whereabouts or condition. All I can tell you is that he_ _is_ _alive. And he will be well. But he needs your help._

 _In the past two years a lot has changed in Central City. The particle accelerator didn't just damage S.T.A.R. Labs and its reputation; it released unquantifiable amounts of energy into Central City, altering the DNA of dozens of individuals. The explosion ended the lives of seventeen people and changed the destinies of countless others._

 _We see the consequences of those changes every time a red blur passes by us. The Flash exists because of these extraordinary circumstances. Other people like him exist for the same reason. Tonight, one of those people confronted The Flash._

 _His name is_ _Zoom_ _._

 _Zoom and The Flash are similar: they're both "speedsters." But there's one thing you need to know: The Flash doesn't want to hurt people. Zoom does._

 _While attempting to subdue Zoom, The Flash rescued a civilian. Then Zoom attacked him. Zoom appeared at Central City Picture News (CCPN) and Central City Police Department (CCPD) holding The Flash hostage. These are the images you are seeing on the news, on the Internet, on your cell phone. Fortunately for all of us, sometime after these appearances, The Flash escaped._

 _It's easy to forget in our world of the impossible that even superheroes can get hurt, but we need to remember that underneath the mask, there is a person, and whoever he is, wherever he is, and whatever the extent of his injuries, The Flash needs a chance to heal. This means that there won't be a red blur passing your sightline tonight. We can't expect interventions from The Flash while he recovers; at this time it's unclear how long it will take him to heal. The streets of Central City will be quieter without him. We need to be extra vigilant._

 _For now, we're on our own._

 _The Flash is alive, but he needs our help. We have to look out for each other, we have to be responsive and take action when we see people in trouble, and for now, we have to take care of ourselves. Zoom is still out there._

 _But so is The Flash._

 _Think of him tonight when you see the news or when you open the newspaper and find his picture. Think of him as you know him. Think of him as the hero he is._

 _Remember that he is still alive and he will come back to help protect Central City._

 _Tonight is a night for gratitude and peace. For now, Zoom is gone. The CCPD has taken every precaution to ensure everyone is safer. Life in Central City will go on._

 _As for The Flash: send him hope. Send him strength. Believe in him and believe in the impossible. Above all else: don't give up on him._

 _Tonight, he needs you._

. o .

Iris clicks _send_ and waits until the message appears on the top of her blog before closing her laptop quietly and sliding it into her satchel. Barry is still asleep and Iris is careful not to wake him as she puts the satchel on the floor, surprised that the soft, rhythmic clicking of her fingers didn't do so. He's not a heavy sleeper, but it's been a long night. He deserves the rest.

Her own eyes are burning with fatigue, but she doesn't even consider leaving him. Comfortable sleep is a luxury for people _without_ loved ones in critical care. She wouldn't be able to sleep well at home if she tried.

All that matters to her is the way Barry's chest rises and falls in slow, rhythmic cycles. He is still breathing. He is still alive. He will be okay.

She reaches up to clasp his hand, feeling the warmth radiating from it, and his breathing doesn't even hitch. It surprises her that Barry, perpetually-defying-the-laws-of-self-preservation-to-help-others Barry, doesn't even twitch in his sleep to acknowledge her.

She's grateful. He needs to sleep. He needs to heal. He needs to _stop hurting_.

She got there as fast as she could, but it still wasn't soon enough. Linda needed her and she couldn't abandon a friend when she knew Barry was in the best care he could be. He would be okay for ten minutes. He had to be. And as soon as she had Linda under control, she called her dad and told him she was coming.

When she got there Barry was in so much pain he didn't even try to hide it.

Iris looks at him now and feels a tear trickle belatedly down her cheek. It hurt to watch him suffer, to know he was in agonizing, irrepressible pain and there was _nothing_ she could do about it. It was almost dizzying to watch; she could barely believe it was _Barry_. While he still had the suit on, she could almost pretend that the Flash really was a different person.

But whenever she looked at his face she knew it was him.

Iris squeezes his hand gently, tells herself that the worst is over. Barry is going to be okay. Sore. In pain for a while. And apparently without feeling in his legs. ( _It should return as his spine heals_.) But okay.

Iris curls an arm on the bed near him, resting her cheek on top of it and closing her eyes. She's still holding Barry's hand, eyes closed, listening to him breathe, slow, steady.

It's surprising how reassuring the presence of another person can be. There are times when Iris forgets that Barry isn't an inherent part of her life – that he can be taken away from it – because he seems so constant. He is her rock. A grounding force in a sometimes turbulent world. A shoulder to cry on, a listening ear, a partner in all things.

A friend she can't bear to lose.

She feels rather than sees him wake up, the tiniest twitch of his fingers. "Hey," she tells him softly, squeezing his hand in acknowledgement, "it's okay."

His fingers go limp in hers, and there's a moment when he might be asleep, except: "Iris." It's barely a whisper, scarcely a breath.

"I'm here," she says, rubbing his arm lightly. "You're okay."

"'m really sore," he admits thickly, fingers twitching feebly in hers, like he'd squeeze her hand if he had the strength. "Painkillers work help. Can't feel much. Except sore. And tired."

"Go back to sleep, Bar."

"Everyone's – okay?" he asks, flagging.

"Everyone's okay," Iris echoes, tracing her fingers so, so gently across his arm. "Go to sleep, Bar."

"'m asleep."

She rests her hand against his arm, traces circles against it with her thumb, feels his breathing even out, heavier, sleepier. The nasal cannula helps: he struggles without it, but he sleeps almost _normally_ with it.

Even the bruises are fading fast. He's healing quickly.

But he's still hurting and Iris can't erase the fact that he had his _back_ broken, that Zoom almost killed him. The list of injuries goes on and on and on; the only reason Caitlin dared to give him as much painkillers as she did was to prevent _death_ from the pain.

At least it makes him more comfortable. Still sleepy and scarcely capable of staying conscious, but less painful.

He's the Flash with every fiber of his being, but all Iris can think about as he sleeps next to her is how _Barry_ he is. How he's vulnerable to real world threats and can be broken. He's extraordinary, but the suit isn't bulletproof and neither is he. He can only survive so much before he breaks. And Zoom finally found a way to break him.

She doesn't know when she falls asleep, but at some point she must because she wakes up with a slight crick in her neck as Barry breathes rather harshly in the quiet of the room.

"You okay?" she asks, eyes hooded, stroking his arm, wavering between wakefulness and sleep. It's late, she's exhausted, and it's been such a _night_ , and she's glad Cisco and Caitlin needed to take a break to freshen up and catch _some_ sleep but she almost wishes that they were there, anything to alleviate the brunt of reality.

He reaches for and finds her hand, squeezing it hard.

She lets him, shushes him without pressing him to explain, knowing that he only really shares if he wants to. He's good at evasion. A terrible liar, but good at refusing help.

At last, she says, "I'm sorry you're hurting."

She hears him sniff slightly, the tiniest noise that might have gone unnoticed if she wasn't so attuned to him, wasn't completely wired to hear every hitch in his breathing. Then he says, very quietly, "I'm just glad you're not."

 _I'm hurting for you_ , Iris thinks, squeezing his arm lightly.

They're silent, just listening to each other, sharing space. He drifts off quietly, sinking back into sleep gradually, his grip loosening around her hand until it's limp.

And then it's quiet and Iris thinks that maybe, maybe it might even be okay.

. o .

Before Barry wakes in the morning – and operating on far too little sleep, herself – Iris starts up her laptop and opens her blog.

Several _thousand_ messages fill her inbox, all addressed to one person.

 _Get well soon, Flash._

 _Feel better, Flash!_

 _Rooting for you, Flash._

The list just goes on and on and on.

She publishes as many as she can, keeping her own article pinned to the top of her blog for anyone waking up to a cold, quiet morning in Central City. Without their favorite speedster on the streets.

 _He's here_ , Iris thinks, _and he's doing well_.

She doesn't tell the whole world it – only offers them as much as she dares – but she's profoundly grateful that she gets to _be here_.

It's not like the coma, waiting day after day, week after week, _month_ after _month_ for any sign of change.

Because when Caitlin and Cisco walk in, neither of them looking like they slept more than Iris, Barry does manage to summon enough energy to talk to them. And seeing him talk, seeing how already he's getting _stronger_ , increment by increment, she feels hopeful for him.

Quietly, she pins a few of her favorite messages, leaves the rest for Barry to find on his own, when he's up to it.

Iris knows Zoom could find the messages. She almost hopes he does.

Because no matter what happens, Central City will always stand with the Flash.


End file.
